Born to Die
by Fish-Custard-And-Bowties
Summary: I'm in the Hunger Games. Of course I am. It was bound to happen to me sooner or later, knowing my luck. But till now, I had nothing to come back to. I know it's been done before, but 73rd hunger games OC x GH, give it a shot?
1. Chapter 1: What if?

**Born to Die.**

**Yes, I know I'm not Suzanne Collins, and do not, in fact, own any of the people or concepts that you recognize. e.g. Peeta, and Gale and the games themselves. :D**

**Onwards!**

Chapter 1: What if?:

"Peeta! Stop!" I squeal as he flings more water at me. "We're meant to be washing up!"

"Okay, okay!" he submits as he douses a doughy rolling pin in the bowl. After I dry it we walk back out to the front of shop and wait for a customer.

"Peeta, what happens tomorrow?" I say in a quiet voice. I don't want to think about tomorrow. The Reaping. Nobody ever does. But Peeta, my best friend, we need to talk, just in case-

"You're not gonna get reaped Rebekah, your names in there, what 3 times?"

"Actually…" I begin but cut myself off, I wasn't gonna tell him I'd taken out tesserae for my family and I couldn't let my brother take it out, it was his first reaping, I couldn't do it.

"What! You took out tesserae! Rebekah, why?"

"My father's dead, Peeta, I need to help my family out how I can." I mutter.

"So, how many times is it in there?" he asks, gripping my shoulder.

"Six." It's really not that bad, not compared to some of the kids from the Seam.

"Six. Oh you _poor lamb._" Drawls a voice from the door. Gale Hawthorne walked into the bakery, the door tinkling shut behind him. "I mean, it's not like some of us have our name in more than 20 times, but six, you must be terrified." His tone was short and sarcastic and I saw Peeta's knuckles whiten behind the counter.

"Gale, I didn't mean it like that. I know you've got it worse. We're all paranoid."

"Just give me a brown roll." He mutters angrily, behind him I see Katniss Everdeen. I know these two seam kids because of the mining accident. All of us fatherless in one incident. Katniss lets out a small sigh at Gale's actions, I guess he was always like this. I wonder if there's something going on between them, what if they ever got reaped together? That would be bad, imagine going into The Hunger Games with the love of your life!

Peeta pulled out a roll and I put it into a bag, accepting the money.

"He's right though." I say as they leave, "They've got it bad. I should've kept my mouth shut."

"We aren't gonna get reaped, Rebekah. It'll be okay." I nod and looked at the clock.

"I should go, my family will be worried, I'll see you after the reaping, Peeta. Good luck."

"You too, Rebekah." He waves me out the shop. The streets are empty in the dimming evening light and the chill in the air is very prominent. My house is on the edge of town, near the seam but not in it. Thanks to my job, and my mother's stall we manage to get by. We aren't living a life of 'District 12 luxury', we don't eat every night, but we eat most.

I have two brothers, m two brothers, my older brother, Finn, is 19, he's safe from the reaping. He's my favourite. Ever since I was 10 years old he's taught me to fight with a stick, now, I'm probably the best sword fighter in 12. I like the feel of it in my hand, I can't imagine what an actual sword would feel like. My brother told me I was a natural. The stick was a natural extension of my arm, and I've never felt better.

My younger brother, David, was just turning twelve, we'd tried to teach him to fight but he wasn't all that great. He grew distracted easily, he can't focus for long amounts of time, I'm told it's a family trait. David is tall for his age, he got my father's height. He has dark blonde hair, almost brown and brown-black eyes.

Mother is owns a stall in the square, selling trinkets like jewellery that she makes out of thread and knick-knacks. She's more like me in looks, we're both just over five foot. Our difference is in our hair though, hers is pale and wispy whereas mine is the same ashy blonde as David's. I wear my hair down to my waist most days and have a fringe just above my eyes, hiding my forehead. We do, however, have matching light blue-grey eyes.

Other than Finn, my family and I don't get on. My mother, though she loves us, became bitter and withdrawn after father's death. And David, well, he's David.

I walk into our small entranceway and immediately just trudge to my room. I see no one in the kitchen so I'm guessing Mum didn't do too well today. My Pay-day's not till Monday. Guess we'll go without tonight then.

In my bed, under the thin sheets, all I can think about is tomorrow. The what-ifs. If my name gets reaped, if my brother gets reaped if Peeta gets reaped. Hardly anyone sleeps in District 12 on the eve of the reaping.

_The Reaping Day_

I wake up to find my reaping dress laid out on the chair across my room. It's a very light turquoise floaty material with little red and white dots that falls just above my knees. The sleeves are short and slightly puffy, the waist drawn in and the skirt in tiny, uniform pleats. In the living room my mother is brushing David's hair so it falls neatly on each side of his parting. When I walk in my family embrace me in a hug as is tradition it seems in our house.

Mother does my hair, leaving the fringe down but softly curling the hair and leaving it to hang neatly each side of my face and down my front in golden waves. No one wants to leave the house, but we all have to. Finn leads us out the door and my mother brings up the rear, tears brimming in her eyes.

My mother leaves us as we are herded into the square and goes to take her place by the shop-fronts with Finn.

We are shepherded into lines and I barely flinch as they prick my finger, taking the blood. In the roped off area for fifteen year-olds I stand next to Madge, the Mayor's daughter. She smiles at me nervously as I walk up and we stand facing the front.

Effie Trinket trots onto stage in her 6 inch heels. Light purple wig and violet outfit.

"Welcome! Welcome to the 73d annual Hunger Games! May the odds be _ever _in your favour." Every year the same, monotonous speech, the same old video. Its not until she says "Ladies first!" that I start to pay attention. Her hand claws around the bowl, trying to find a white paper slip.

Everyone in the square zones in on it, praying it's nothing to do with them. Peeta's right, it won't be me, I'm in there six times. I look across to him, he's watching Katniss but he notices me turn and nods reassuringly. As I turn to the front again I catch Gale looking at me in a similar way that Peeta was watching Katniss. I shoot him a questioning look but my attention is drawn from him

"Rebekah Dawson." Says Effie Trinket. My head snaps around to the front as the girls near me all step back.

My feet shuffle forward of their own accord but I mask the expression quickly. If I want to survive I must appear brave.

But I won't survive.

**Yaaaaay! **

**I started a hunger games story! Depending on how I decide for this fic to go there may be sequels going into the book years but we'll see.**

**Tell me what you think and leave a review!**

**Love, **

**Bx**


	2. Chapter 2: If I No, When I

Chapter 2: If I- No, when I…:

My feet shuffle forward of their own accord and I walk up to the stage, blanking out the world as I go. I keep my face smooth and emotionless, if I show fear, I won't make it.

A boy called Lars Lyrac was chosen, he looked about a year older than me, 16? 17 at most. After this we were marched into the Justice Building, away from our families, away from the district square for possibly the last time.

The room I was put in was surprisingly plush. Make us feel more comfortable I guess. The first people to come and see me are my family. Finn and David pull me inti a tight hug, I don't want them to ever let me go. I can't say anything yet, the shock has overwhelmed me.

"You could do it, Rebs," says Finn, "You could win for us. We need you to come home." His eyes are brimming with tears.

"What's the use Finn? Twelve don't win." I say, a stray tear rolling down my cheek.

"You could, I taught you how to fight, didn't I? Use it. Use your ability, you know about how to treat yourself if you're hurt, you can learn to find food. You can do this."

"Don't." I mutter, the words of comfort aren't worth the trouble, inside we all know I won't be coming back. I turn to my mother. "Take care of them, don't let David take out tesserae, it's not worth it, convince Peeta to give him my job. Just please, be safe."

"Sweet-heart, you don't have to, don't say your good-byes."

"I have to mum, if I don't now, when will I?" she pulls me into another hug as a peace-keeper comes in.

"Time." They prise my family off of me and the door slams shut behind them. I sit on the plush sofa, head in hands, sobbing.

"Rebekah?" I look up to find Peeta stood in front of the door. "Im so sorry, Rebekah."

"d-don't, it's not your fault."

"It is, I should have given you more bread, you shouldn't have had to take out tesserae."

"You gave me a job, P-Peeta that was more than enough." Peeta's eyes flashed with sympathy and he advanced forward gripping me up in a tight hug.

"You're my best friend, Rebekah, I need you to come home. For me, for everyone. We need you." He whispered.

"No you don't, Peeta, you'll get by. Give David my job though, do this for me at least."

"Fine but when you come back it's yours again." We're both crying now, unashamedly.

"Peeta, don't. I'm not coming back in anything other than a coffin." I knew if I kept thinking like this it's probably more likely to kill me, but hey, it'll happen anyway, might as well be ready.

"You don't know that. I need my best friend, Rebekah!"

"I'll try Peeta," I promise, gripping hi hand tightly.

"Here, take this," he hands me a small, blue woven bracelet. It's beautiful. "Make it your token."

"I will, Peeta."

"And give it to me when you get home." He smiles, I smile weakly back and shake my head in disbelief.

"If you tell Katniss how you feel?" I grin at the blush that creeps onto his cheeks.

"How did you-?"

"Time!" calls a peace-keeper, pulling Peeta roughly from me.

"Don't forget me!" I shout as the door swings shut. After he's gone I expect no one else.

Until the door opens.

The last person in the world that I expected to see stands in front of me. Gale Hawthorne.

"Gale?" I say in wonder, "What are you-?" my question is cut off as he advances towards me. He presses his lips roughly to mine. Our lips fit so perfectly and my hands go from frozen at my sides to the nape of his neck, twisting in his hair.

After a moment we both pull back, breathless.

"I'm sorry, Rebekah. I just couldn't let you leave without doing that."

"What? What the hell's going on Gale!" I half screech.

"You, I think you're wonderful." He says, running a hand through his unruly black hair. "And I have no idea why!"

"But, Katniss-?" I gasp,

"Will never see me the way I see her."

"So what, I'm second best?" I yell, what perfect timing the boy has.

"No, you're brilliant, and, Katniss will never see me that way, but you would, I know you would."

My crush. Confessing he likes me. Just a little.

"I, Gale, I'm going to the Hunger Games!"

"I know, so it was now or never. And when you make it back, we'll talk. Because, if I can't have her. Then why shouldn't I move on?" it certainly wasn't eloquent, but still, it's the best I've ever gotten.

"Gale, if I- No, when I die. Move on, don't wait for me, you would anyway."

"I know. But when you come back, we could try this." He glances back at the door again before pulling me towards him. I lean up on my tip-toes and our lips crash together again. The kiss can't last forever, but it may be the last one, and only the second one at the same time. It's full of passion, full of fire, something neither of us are lacking in.

It makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could win this.

**Oh, the Drama! I bet none of yous was expecting that! But, if Gale can't have Katniss, he should have someone. **

**Love,**

**Bx**

**P.s. Please review? For Rebekah?**


	3. Chapter 3: When You Were Me

Chapter 3: When You Were Me:

* * *

"Time!" yells a peace-keeper for the third time today. I shake my head, tears brimming in my eyes and cling tightly to Gale.

"No." I whimper pathetically. Why does Gale suddenly have such an effect on me?

"You'll be alright, Rebekah. You'll be alright!" he shouts the last bit as they pull him out the door. This time, there is no one to console my sobs.

Not long after I am led from the room by two peace-keepers and huddled into the back seat of a car with Lars and Effie. Effie keeps going in about how brilliant the Capitol is, and how lucky we are getting to see it. Lucky? Yes, a fight to the death, everyone's description of lucky. Well, it depends what district you're from. The train station is full of reporters but Effie just leads us on through, right to the train.

The train is fancy, very fancy. The furnishings are velvet and mahogany and there are plates of food everywhere. Lars and I both give a gasp of surprise at how… nice it is. Again with the keeping us comfortable thing.

"Well! Here we are! Why don't you take a seat and we'll get going soon!" trills Effie from behind us, gesturing to the blue and velvet covered chairs. Effie pushes on through the car, presumably to go talk to someone.

"Hey." I mutter to Lars as he sits next to me. "Haven't seen you much before."

"You wouldn't. I'm from the Seam." He mumbles darkly.

"But, you must go to school?" I say, I have to get to know the kid, even if we are both gonna die.

"I'm the year above you. You wouldn't know me."

"So you're 16?" I ask.

"Well done. Are we finished with the questions now?" he snaps. I nod and begin to gaze out the window.

"Rebekah, Lars, this is your mentor, Haymitch." Says Effie, 15 minutes later, coming back into the Compartment. Behind her stands a man with sandy coloured hair, an unkempt beard and a glass of liquor in his hand. Lars and I both sit up in our seats as they come and tale the seats opposite us. Haymitch, looks drunk. This doesn't surprise me, whenever anyone sees Haymitch, he is drunk. "So Haymitch, any advice for our budding tributes?" Effie says through a forced smile.

Haymitch gives out a short laugh. "Stay alive." He takes a swig from his glass and I cringe. Stay alive? This man is our only shot at surviving and he sits drinking and giving rubbishy sarcastic advice. I want to get home, to live my life, to start something with Gale. If this man is my only shot, my hopes just went from low to lower.

"Stay alive? Stay alive!" I splutter! "That's your best advice? I don't need this! I need my life!"

"Well, good luck with that, _sweet-heart,_ you're in the hunger games now if you hadn't noticed!" he says angrily.

"Yeah, believe it or not I have noticed!" I shout standing up! "What about when you were me? Did you not think you were gonna die without the one person who could help just reinforcing that belief?"

"Well what do you know? We've got someone with a bit of fire." Says Haymitch, sinking back into his seat and clapping slowly. Sarcastically. I notice the angry tears that have formed in my eyes and I wipe away a stray that has rolled down my cheek.

As the air shifts I can smell the liquor on his breath and give a huff of disgust. "Are you constantly drunk or just when you need to help people?" I spit.

"Now really." Sighs Effie "This is no way to start a team!" I can tell from the way she's glaring at Haymitch she clearly doesn't like him either.

"Leave it, Effie. I'm going to my room. Call me for dinner." I say, pushing back my chair and storming from the main part of the car to my room.

If this is what he's like every year, no wonder we don't win. I'll win this. Not for me. Not for Peeta or my family. Not even for Gale. I will win the Hunger Games so whoever gets reaped next year doesn't face the same damn uselessness that can be Haymitch Abernathy.

A while later, god knows how long, an Avox comes and gets me, motioning me to follow her back to the main car. The rest of our 'team' our sat around the table, eating. I take the seat next to Effie, smiling forcedly at her. In front of me is food, and I am hungry, but it takes all my self-control to pick up the cutlery and eat properly like Effie. She smiles at my table manners and for once I'm glad my mother drilled them into me, if only to avoid Effie's snarky comments.

"So, Rebekah." She trills, "Have you got any hidden talents we can use, I mean, other than your sweet, innocent charms, have you got a feisty side?"

"She can fight." Says Lars dully from opposite me. Haymitch looks up at me with a grin.

"So fire and a fighter, hey? Who knows, we might actually have a winner."

"How do you even-?" I begin, gaping at Lars, who shrugs.

"It's common knowledge. Everyone sees you and your brothers' stick fights in the meadow. And then that time you punched Rodger McKinney last year." I blush at this. One day, Rodger McKinney had come up behind me and, rather stupidly, squeezed my ass. (he, I might add, was also drunk at the time. Which is why I don't like drunks, has that point come across?) I didn't appreciate this so I did the only thing I could think of, turned round and right-hooked him. Since then, I am often told I've got a mean right-hook.

"That's wonderful. We can play you as sweet and innocent but use that hidden passion and fire." Grins Effie. "And what about you Lars? What do you have to offer?" I look at the Seam boy with interest. He knows me, though I know almost nothing of him.

"Not really." He mutters gruffly. Effie tuts,

"I'm sure there's something. We'll just have to use your rugged charms somehow."

* * *

"Up, up, up! We have _lots_ to do today!" Says Effie in a sing-song voice as she shakes my shoulder.

"Unh!" I groan into the sheet. "Leave me alone."

"Nonsense! Come on! Up, dressed and ready for your first appearance in the Capitol!" and with that I see her exit the room.

I slide from the bed and walk over to the large wardrobe where I hung my reaping dress yesterday afternoon. Sitting infront of the mirror I tie my hair into a bun at the back of my head, leaving only my fringe and a few tendrils that are to short to go in the bun hanging around my face. I smooth my dress down and stand leaving my room to find breakfast.

"Ah, good, you're here." Says Effie, "Sit down. Haymitch and I just want to run over a few things."

"Firstly, your stylists and preps, don't argue with them. They're only doing what's best for you so trust their judgement." Says Haymitch. "If you fall out they alone can make your lives hell in the arena."

"Don't argue, got it." I say, eating a white roll. It isn't as good as Peeta's but I'll never admit that here in the presence of Effie.

"I mean it sweet-heart." Growls Haymitch. For once, I think he has a point. I have no desire to go out in the tribute parade naked and covered in coal-dust.

"Is that it?" says Lars suddenly, pointing to the window.

"Oh my God!" I mutter, rushing to the window next to Lars. "it's huge!"

"That's what she said." Whispers Lars in my ear, causing me to discreetly elbow him in the ribs. Suddenly we disappear into a tunnel and I know that when we come out we will be in the Capitol, in the public eye, determining whether or not we should survive.

The light floods back in through the window and I put on my most winning smile. There in front of us is a station full of people dressed like, or in most cases, even more eccentrically than Effie. I remember what we said about my innocent looks and I force a blush, giving a nervous wave.

The door opens and this is it. The Hunger Games… begin!

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**Ta dah! What do you think everyone? I wouldn't say it's my best due to writer's block but leave a REVIEW and tell me! Please?**

**Love,**

**Bx**


	4. Chapter 4: Before the Flames

Chapter 4: Before the Flames:

_**The title? Oh, all shall be revealed my pretties!**_

* * *

As soon as we step out onto the platform we are guided a short way, put in separate cars and when I get out I am led to a room. Inside are three people. They tell me that they are my prep team. Dedalus is purple. His skin is dyed a light shade of violet and his eyes are a bright indigo; his hair, however, is a bright, bright white, all in all, I think he looks rather odd. There are two women, Makenna and Yasmin. Makenna is, mostly, fairly normal looking, all that makes her stand out, really, is her hair; bright blue at the top then fading to a midnight colour where it meets her waist. Her eyes too are a deep, blood red. The last woman, Yasmin, looks as odd as Dedalus with her skin a light shade of green making her resemble somewhat of a wood nymph, especially with her tail, which I see occasionally flick out, and her shining, silver tattoos, swirling from her chest to her face.

The prep team wash me, wax me, brush my nails, wash me again, comb out my hair, trim my hair so the fringe is most definitely even. My face is cleansed and eyebrows are plucked. They talk in a mindless, ceaseless chatter, about the Capitol, the upcoming games, how _lucky_ I am, what the betting odds are. Turns out, the 'odds are in my favour', as Effie would say. The betting companies expect me to survive to the top eight. What do I make of that? They think I'll be a ruthless killer?

The beauty _therapy_ goes on for what seems like forever before they stand in front of my naked body and proclaim that I am indeed finished. Oh, how they can't wait to tell Hestion! My insecurities are all still there and I fight the urge to cover myself up. The entire prep team leaves and they go find my stylist, Hestion. I'm worried about my meeting with Hestion, if I'm entirely honest. This man can, as Haymitch said, have a major effect on whether I live or die. But I did what I said, didn't I? I didn't complain to the Prep team; that's a big step for me.

About a minute later, a man walks in. He is more human looking than Dedalus and Yasmin, but his hair, shoulder length and waved, is a dark red and his eyes are outlined with a electric blue colour.

"Hello, Rebekah." He says to me in his soft voice, "It's lovely to meet you. Is there anything you'd like?"

"Um, can I have my robe?" I ask quietly. He chuckles lightly and hands me it from a rack by the door.

"There you go, no need to feel insecure near me. Now, I'm Hestion, your stylist."

"So, you're here to make me look pretty?"

"Well, yes. But if you don't look pretty for the parade, how will you let them allow you to shine in the arena?"

"You really think I'll be good?" I ask disbelievingly. This man doesn't know me, but he thinks I'll do moderately at least.

"No." oh, "I think you'll be brilliant." My eyes shine with question but he nods his head. "I saw the look on your face. You were scared, but the bravest are not those who live without fear, but those who embrace it. I want you to survive, Rebekah Dawson. I want you to win."

I nod my head, soaking up his every word.

"Now, your costume." He says. This is the bit I am sceptical of. 12 never, ever has good costumes because were an outlying district that mine coal. "I didn't want to put you in some ridiculous costume, you've got enough to worry about!" Not in a costume? Shit, he's gonna send me out naked and in coal dust like a few years ago! "So, let's focus on the coal." Shit, coal dust, naked, shit!

Hestion turns around and walks out the door before coming back with my prep team and a dress bag. Phew, it can't be coal dust if it's in a dress bag at least.

"Rebekah, I think, if you're gonna shine in the arena, like fire, what about before the arena, hmm? And what does coal do before it goes up in flames? It leaves a smoky trail." He pulls the zipper of the dress bag down and reveals a sheer, black, chiffon number with trails of dark grey netting behind it.

They slip it over my head and I feel the black, satiny underdress that resides beneath all the dark grey swirling chiffon, layering up to make it as black as midnight in 12.

They sit me down on a swivel chair in front of a mirror and tell me to close my eyes. I can feel them applying a thin layer of make up to my face. Five minutes later Hestion claps and I open my eyes to see them all step back, grinning. I turn to my face in the mirror and, although it's me, I look so… different. There isn't much make up on my face, just a layer of gloss with a slight red tint on my lips. My eyelids are outlined with a coal black colour – how fitting – and a light layer of black mascara, lengthening my lashes.

"Perfect!" exclaims Hestion, pressing his hands together, "Come on then, let's get you up to the parade."

I find myself in a large courtyard full of chariots and tributes. The girl from one is looking at me scathingly, she must be, what, 18? Her dress is a floor-length silver, covered in what appear to be real diamonds. She looks very like her district partner and for a second I wonder if they're related, it's been known to happen, especially in career districts.

I am distracted from my thoughts by a light tap on my shoulder. I jump slightly but turn to see Lars grinning at me.

"Hey. What do you think?" he indicates to his own costume, a sleek, full black suit with a cape of grey swirling and twirling from the shoulders. I nod my head making my now curled hair bounce around my face. "Good, then?"

"Brilliant."

"Rebekah!" shouts a voice from across the courtyard. "I can't believe I almost forgot, here!" he hands me a long veil of grey encrusted with onyx gemstones. I slide it into my hair and push the veil backwards but Hestion tuts and repositions it. "Perfect! Now, get on the chariot, you're about to go, good luck, Rebekah!"

"That's your stylist?" asks Lars as Hestion rushes back to his prep team.

"Yep! Don't be mean, I think he's a gem."

Soon the chariots pull off and we are rode out onto a long, catwalk like lanes surrounded by screaming 'fans'. My veil and train stream out behind me in a wispy, smoky fashion as does Lars' cape. I try to remember what our tributes usually do. They stand there dumbfounded, so I should do the opposite. I force a pretty blush, bite my lip slightly and give a nervous wave. A cheer erupts from the crowds and I feign growing confidence. Lars raises his eyebrows ever so slightly so I kick him lightly in the chariot. He shakes his head but gives a disarming smile to the crowd.

See, were both showing off for the cameras.

I'm fairly sure Gale hates me right now though.

We arrive in a circle outside the presidents home and he makes a speech, which I don't care much to listen to. Soon he is waving us off and the chariots begin to disappear through a large door and we are at the famed training grounds.

Effie and Haymitch, and the stylists come towards us, Haymitch slightly drunk, all grinning. Lars' stylist, Orla, commends him on his performance while Hestion just nods approvingly at me. He'll definitely be of help then.

"Oh, you were brilliant, both of you!" squeals Effie as we walk towards the elevator. We end up in it (And I've never been in an elevator before!) with the tributes from 1 along with their mentor, a victor called Cashmere.

It's only for one floor but the tension is unbelievably awkward, knowing that in four days we'll be in a fight to the death with these two. On their way out the girl from one crashes into me and hisses, "Watch yourself, 12!" wow, not even here a day and she's already got a vendetta.

"Wow," whistles Haymitch, "Well, that's the bitch who's gonna kill you then!"

* * *

**Hey! I'm sorry it's late, it wasn't ready cuz I fell asleep writing it and then I got distracted by my sister. Anywuggles,**

**REVIEW! **

**Love,**

**Bx**


	5. Chapter 5: The Training

Chapter 5: The Training:

* * *

In the morning I wake to hear Effie Trinket squealing about how it's going to be a 'big, big day!' Today is the day training begins. Haymitch has told me not to reveal my skills with a sword, save those for my private session in front of the Game Makers. So what else can I do? Sword fighting is all I am good at, well, it's all I've ever tried, we never expected my name to be reaped. I'm not Katniss, I can't shoot at stuff to feed my family. I can't throw a massive sack of flour over my head. I don't need to, I've only ever needed to be me.

"Are you nervous?" asks Lars as he gets in the elevator next to me, dressed in his identical black and grey uniform with this year's signature blue stripe and a 12 in a circle on the sleeve.

"Me, nervous?" I laugh jokingly, "What about you? Anything you plan on doing today?"

"No, no plan as of yet. We should probably try the survival skills centre, that's gonna be more than a little important. I nod in agreement. I really need to learn how to prepare any food I catch, what plants I can and can't eat. Anything that could help me, I was going to try and learn.

The training hall is large and imposing, there's an obstacle course an array of weaponry and the survival skills centre with plants, camouflage equipment and rope and matches. We are one of the last districts to join the group and as soon as district eight comes in behind us, the woman, Atala, begins to speak.

"You have four days to learn anything that could be useful to you. Listen to what the trainers here tell you, they are one of your best shots at survival. But don't think it's all about the weapons either, exposure or poison is just as likely to kill you in the arena as the sword of another tribute. So listen to the trainers at the survival skills centre as well. And don't fight with the other tributes, there's plenty of time for that in the arena." There were a few laughs around the room and she stepped back, motioning for us to go.

The career tributes go immediately to the weapons section as do, shockingly, the girl from 11 and the boy from 7. The rest of us deliberate for a while, but slowly, the crowd dissipates. I myself move to the obstacle course, lining up behind the girl from seven. She turns and gives me a nervous smile which I return unsurely.

The boy from four is leaping about the obstacle course with ease so we stand awkwardly awaiting our go.

"Hi." She says after a minute.

"Hello." I reply, shaking the hand she offers.

"My name's Amy."

"It's nice to meet you."

"You looked very good, by the way. At the tribute parade." She shoots me a dazzling smile.

"Thanks, it was my stylists work,"

"At least you've got a good stylist. I was just dressed in a dress made entirely of leaves."

"Hey, at least it wasn't a tree trunk. That could have gone really badly. And at least you pulled it off quite well!" I say grinning. She didn't look too ridiculous, more like something out of one of the old fairy tales.

The trainer beckons for Amy to go and she steps out onto the obstacle course and takes a deep breath, calming herself. She closes her eyes before snapping them open and leaping into action. She jumps agilely from block to block ducking and weaving where necessary. She reaches the mock tree which we are to climb and shoots up it like a squirrel. Of course, she's district seven. It wouldn't surprise me if she's been leaping around from branch to branch since the age of five.

She finishes her run with glowing pride from the trainers and she's barely out of breath. I see her wait on the other side of the course and with a tiny wave she lets me know she's waiting for me. I step up to the course as the instructor beckons and analyse it carefully. Boulder like gymnastic horses to leap to and from, a cargo net and a fake tree to climb. I have no gymnastic ability, I'm from twelve with no real ability to do anything other than sword fight. The girl from one is sneering at me, she must know, as do I, that here in the training for the Hunger Games, I do not belong. I daren't delay any longer though and set off at a run.

The course itself passes in a blur and I am soon next to my friend from 7.

"Wow! You did good. I didn't know you guys from twelve were so athletic."

"w-we're not." I stammer, "Honestly, I was just focusing on not falling off." I admit sheepishly. She laughs and takes my hand, dragging me towards the survival section.

"And that, my friend, is the secret of a good gymnast."

"Really?" I say lacing my voice with sarcasm. Amy and I spend the rest of our training day together. She's really, really good with an axe and is one of the best gymnasts in the room, it pays being from seven, we all remember Johanna Mason. I discover myself that I am adquete at knife throwing and will hit the target more often than not but the girls from 1, 2 and 11 are all better at it than me. The girl from 11 scares me. For a tribute from an outlying district she's completely ruthless, small and feisty, a take no prisoners type any day.

My new friend, Amy, and I agree to be allies in the arena, neither of us acknowledging the fact we'll both be dead within the fort-night. Lars doesn't talk with me much all day. Instead he remains in solitude, reminding me achingly of Gale. They don't look too dissimilar either which definitely isn't helping, but, as I have been doing, I push the thought of Gale from my mind.

Later in the day as Amy attempts to teach me to use the axe properly, something I am failing at miserably, I can see the tributes from one sneering at me. Their laughter and whispering causes something in me to snap. My temper, not my best asset, I don't have the patience for bitches like her. "What are you looking at one?" I call angrily. I can hear Haymitch snarling in my ear to keep my cool.

"What's it to you, twelve?" she laughs derisively, "Scared."

"You wish." I snort.

"Better watch yourself, twelve." Says the boy, "wouldn't want to go upsetting my sister now." They both laugh at some inside joke. Really? What have I done to piss them off already? All I've really done is steal their shining glory at the parade. Wait, sister? They are related? Gees, they maybe really annoying but no-one really wants to see a brother and sister have to kill each other, the Capitol really is twisted. Amy taps on my arm and tries to get me back into the axe fighting, but focusing was never my strong-suit.

Over the days I learn various survival skills, from learning to skin an animal and how to set a snare to building a fire and small shelter. Amy and I also make friends with a quiet boy from eleven, the total opposite of his district partner (whose name I learn to be Roza), he, rather like Amy is a good climber and is very skilled with a bow and arrow. So together, Charles, our district eleven friend, Amy and I agree that we will make a pack of our own, the anti-careers. Together, we make a career without the blood-lust. Haymitch approves of my friend and, though he still ignores me and teases me, I think he'll miss me when I'm gone.

As the days pass I think of home, of Peeta and Finn, of Gale and the last lingering kiss he gave me. I trace the line of my lips absent-mindedly from time to time feeling his lips against mine. I miss Peeta's laughter, Finn's fencing lessons.

More than anything else, I just miss home.

* * *

**w was it? Review, please?**

**Love,**

**Bx**


	6. Chapter 6: Calm Before The Storm

Chapter 6: Calm Before The Storm:

The rest of the training week draws on without incident, whether in our private sessions with our mentors – in which Lars remains silent, Haymitch stays sober enough to help but shows a type of indifference to me, though he is helpful…ish – or in the main training hall. The Game Makers mill around above us, watching us with their clipboards, occasionally taking notes and picking at the banquet. I don't like being watched in this manner, it feels like I have no privacy anymore. But, then again, next week my face, words and actions will be splattered across the television screens of everyone in the country. Until I die at least.

Finally, the day of our training scores arrives, and I sit with Charles and Amy at lunch, as always.

"Are you nervous?" I ask them. One by one all of the tributes are being called away for their private sessions in front of the game-makers. Amy just laughs at me like the most obvious thing in the world whereas Charles shoots me a look to say 'of course I'm bloody nervous!'

"Okay, Okay! Point taken."

Amy gets called soon and disappears through a door after the other tributes. Soon Charles is gone too and it's just Lars and I in the lunch hall. He doesn't come over though, just waits patiently for his turn to come. As soon as he is gone I feel the loneliness creep up on me. I never did well with loneliness. My palms grow sweaty and I am on my feet pacing; wishing I was anywhere but here.

"Rebekah Dawson, District 12." Calls a cool voice and I walk towards the door.

When I'm in the first thing I notice is the game-makers. On the whole they look bored, a few paying vague attention. It doesn't take an idiot to know I'm gonna have to be spectacular to get even a mediocre score.

"Rebekah Dawson, District Twelve." I say, straining to keep my voice from shaking with all the nerves I'm feeling.

I grab not one blade, but two. Once, my brother showed me how to fight two swords, if ever I should need to.

I need to.

With my decision to take two weapons, I know I've captured at least some of the game-makers interest. I've never handled two swords at a time before. I look directly into Seneca Crane's face and wink gutsily before going into a full on duel with the simulator.

It doesn't get one good hit at me. I win. I take a cheeky, mocking curtsey at the game-makers. They exchange glances and dismiss me but as I reach the door I can't resist trying to have them remember me. I turn and whistle noisily before blowing an almost mocking, gutsy kiss like the wink I did earlier; a goodbye kiss, before slipping from the room.

I see no-one on my return to the apartment but once inside the team leaps on me.

"How did it go?" asks Effie.

"Oh, it went fine…"

* * *

"Rebekah, Come on! They're gonna show the scores!" yelled Lars, knocking on my door. All my adrenaline from earlier has worn off and I'm no longer sure my actions were for the best. But they'll know I've got guts, right? Always good for the show.

The brother from one was up first, he got an eight, his sister, a nine. Amy got a seven, I guess that really is her lucky number. The scores got closer and closer to mine. Charles got an eight whilst the girl from his district, Roza, matched the girl from one, whose name I now knew to be Violet.

Our whole team was looking at Lars expectantly and Orla was rubbing his back.

"Lars Lyrac, District Twelve… a seven," rang out Claudius Templesmith from the television. Our team all erupted with cheers. A seven, wow! Whatever he did, he'd kept his talents hidden.

"Rebekah Dawson, District twelve," I hold my breath and grip the sofa, my knuckles turning white. "A nine." my jaw dropped open and everyone turned to me grinning.

"Oh this is perfect! One of the top training scores!" trills Effie.

"Wow, sweet-heart. What on earth did you pull?" smirked Haymitch. I'm fairly sure he knew I'd done more than just sword fight. They'd done more than award me, though. I was marked. Violet wanted me dead anyways, they'd just painted a bigger target across my chest. But I smile winningly at Haymitch, tapping the side of my nose.

* * *

"That's right, now hold your head up, don't be looking at your feet the whole time." Says Effie as I walk across the room once more in my training heels. I could be spending my time learning more survival skills, not stupid 'How to walk in heels: a master-class with Effie Trinket'!

After another half hour, in which she has me walking with my head held high we move on to smiling. Apparently, I have a lovely smile which lights up the room. Yeah, well I have little cause to use it, I think at Effie who continues to smile patronizingly and ask shallow questions.

The session with Haymitch is… interesting. In the end we decided I was charming. Charming and innocent, though not quite so innocent, in fact, I'm definitely more on the flirtatious side. He asked me questions pretending to be the interviewer, Caesar Flickerman, and I answered them, saying them with a laugh and a smile, batting my eyelids at an imaginary audience, coming up with witty, feisty comments about the other tributes.

"Well," says Haymitch at the end of it, "I think for once we've got a tribute who may do just fine."

"Thanks, I'm overwhelmed by your vote of confidence," I mutter sarcastically,

"Perfect, Blondie just perfect!" he says, taking another swig of his drink.

I toss and turn in my bed, I can't sleep. The lack of sleep will aid me little when I get to the games and I know Hestion and the Preps will be annoyed if my eyes are surrounded by dark circles. It has to be already early morning by the time I get to sleep, and it feels as though I get hardly any sleep at all when I wake up to the preps shaking me with their alien smiles.

I just sit in a somewhat morose fashion as they work on my hair and face. They are talking to each other about the betting polls, like I presume they do every year at this stage. Turns out I am average in the betting tables this year, because there were at least two other tributes with te same score as me, and one of them also from an outlying district… In other words; I am nothing special.

Hestion comes in now, carrying another dress bag and I let out a slight groan.

"Aw, don't be so down, sweet-heart, you'll look fabulous!" he says, smiling brightly at me, "Come on, up you get, we have to get you into a dress so you can wow the crowd some more."

"Thanks, Hestion," I mumble quietly. Confident as I may seem, in actuality I am terrified. This persona that seems to have been created for me. This façade. I don't know if I can uphold it. I may be similar to the personality I'm trying to portray, but it's hardly me. And I feel that now, if I ever get home. To Gale. He'll want nothing to do with me.

And I honest to God wouldn't blame him.

The zipper of the dress bag is pulled down in order to reveal a flawless dress, yet again. It's entirely different from what I wore to the tribute parade. A lot more suited to my… character. It has tight fitted sleeves and a back made of see through, organza fabric which is covered in intricate embroidered little spirals. The body of the dress is a sweetheart neckline that covers my chest and abdomen in a sequin panel before slipping down into the skirt, but that is all it covers for, as I've said, it's virtually backless and the organza comes round to the sides. The skirt goes down to the floor and clings tight onto me. As a matter of fact the entire dress does, and suddenly I'm glad of the merely adequate amount of food I receive. Without it I could not pull this dress off. The skirt is made of the same sequined fabric as the front panel and much to my relief goes all the way around – though there is a thigh high slit up my left leg – the see-through back of my dress dips down to the small of my back where it changes into the skirt. The whole dress is a shocking deep burgundy colour.

It's flawless.

I slip it on and though it feels ridiculously revealing with its low neck, slit skirt and barely there back, I feel comfortable. The heels I'm presented with are as high as the ones Effie had me train in because, unlike most tributes Hestion's served before, I can walk in them without falling… thankfully. The shoes are glittering and black, like the embroidery on my dress.

"You're perfect," he says, walking around me one last time and I snort in a 'most unlady-like fashion' – as Effie would say – causing him to shake his head. "Really, Rebekah, you're meant to ooze confidence. Compliments come naturally and you always have a beautiful reply or a stunning thank-you."

"Thanks for the advice." I say darkly, he huffs and walks out the door but I follow, shoes clicking on the floor.

**So, really I wanted to continue this but I couldn't get past this point. I'm really worried about this story and having a real dilemma as to whether or not to continue it. **

**Help? I would appreciate it and any suggestions you have. **


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